


A Home for the Feast-Cycle

by Anon_E_Miss



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:33:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anon_E_Miss/pseuds/Anon_E_Miss
Summary: Orphans Smokescreen and Bluestreak join Jazz, Prowl and the Twins for the Feast of Mortilus.





	A Home for the Feast-Cycle

Prowl drove towards his habsuite, his processor waffling between offensive and defensive strategies still needing perfection, and personal struggles. This was only the first procreo cycle since he and Jazz had decided to give the Twins’ a sibling, but the tactician had failed to kindle. Ratchet had reassured him that it often took multiple attempts to kindle, but in the back of the Praxians processor he thought of the Twins’ emergence, and he feared. There had been complications, most of them related to his treatment in Decepticon custody, and he had given emergence on the floor of the prison cell Jazz had found him in, still bleeding heavily from the last round of interrogation. Due to the torture, Prowl had suffered ruptures in his protoform and he had very nearly bled to death, Ratchet’s insistence that he join Jazz in the recovery mission had been the only thing that had saved his and his newlings’ lives.

 

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were first tier sparklings now, and Prowl and Jazz both hoped to give them a sibling without too severe an age gap. Their originator was afraid that it would be impossible, that there was some damage Ratchet could not see, that would stop him from kindling again. Praxians traditionally had large families, Prowl was one of three brothers, and that had been considered something of a small family in their culture. More over, he had been out of touch with X-Brawn and Side Burn for vorns. If they knew they had nephews, it would have been through gossip, not him. Jazz only had one brother, a twin as was common in Polihexian frames. Ricochet was stationed off world for three vorns, else he would have been here with them. Jazz had not been surprised when Prowl had kindled twins, even in mixed frametype couples, couplings with Polihexians had high rates of twins, somehow he had never thought to mention this to Prowl, not that the tactician would have decided against kindling with him, he loves Jazz, he had wanted to have a bitlet, or rather bitlets with Jazz. Prowl still wanted to have bitlets with him, if every one shared more of the progenitors frame attributes, the Praxian could not have given less of a damn.

 

Even if it was just one more, Prowl wanted to kindle. He wanted a calm and comfortable emergence, just like he had planned for when he had been carrying the Twins. Their emergence had been frantic and terrifying, bombs and rockets had been exploding nearby, he had been hurt and terrified. To be truthful, sometimes the memories of that dark-cycle still haunted him but every time he held his creations, the worst of those memory-purges just bled away. They were the balm on his spark. Jazz had been disappointed when Prowl had not kindled a second time this first try but he had kissed the Praxian, and held him and purred that it only meant they had more time to practice. “Practising” had soothed some of Prowl’s disappointed, his mate had away of making him feel both beautiful and treasured. Even if he never kindled again, he though Jazz would shrug it off, as he was singularly capable of doing, it would not diminish his love for the tactician, of that Prowl was certain, he would be happy with their family of four, but greedy as it might have been, Prowl wanted more. Before he could sink any further into anxiety and despair. He was only blocks from home when an urgent ping came over his comms, Prowl answered it as he recalulated his route, and turned off a side street to turn back towards base.

 

:“Lover, ya sittin’ down?” Jazz’s rich voice crooned offer his comms.

 

:“No, I am on route home,” Prowl replied. “What has happened.”

 

:“Think ya can perform a Festival miracle?” His mate asked.

 

:“What have you done?” The Praxian asked. “You should have landed joors ago. You should have landed two mega-cycles ago in actual fact. No one could explain to me why you were delayed, and you have been suspiciously silent.”

 

:“So when the Cons turned tail they left some stuff behind,” Jazz explained. “Some orphans, even wit the brand smoothed off, even wit their blue optics, they ain’t adoptable in Kalis. Ultra Magnus’ plan was to send’em to Praxus, but turns out their orphanage ain’t interested in Con whelps either...”

 

:“Praxus...” Prowl said.

 

:“They’re Praxian, at least half,” the Polihexian replied. “A two tier sparkling, and a newlin’ just a stellar-cycle old... I was headed to the transport when Ultra Magnus called me to assist. Seemed to them that the sparklin’ didn’t speak Neo Cybex. Since he was movin’ his doors a lot, they figured he probably just spoke dat Praxian dialect.”

 

:“Which you’ve learned some from me,” the tactician said.

 

:“Ya, sparklin’ speaks Neo Cybex just fine, he’s just don’t like strangers much,” Jazz’s mirth was audible even over his mental voice. “All that flutterin’ he was doin’? He was swearin’... mechlin’s creative. We hit it off... so ‘m taggin’ along on his transport. I’d like to bring’em to our place. It’s the Feast of Mortilus, I hate to drop’em off in a strange place durin’ the Festival...”

 

They would need another berth. While the Twins often elected to cuddle on one or the other’s berth, their berths were still too short for a second tier sparkling. Again Prowl changed his trajectory. Many, even most furniture stores would be closed on the Feast’s Eve, Megamart however would still be open and perhaps it was not the best quality merchandise, it would do for the dark-cycle. Even better, the retailer of all manners of everything would have linens for the new berth, and the containment berth the Praxian would pull from storage when he returned home. It would also have toys for the newcomes. He had finished shopping for the Twins quartexes ago, this was Prowl after all, even with Jazz away, even managing their chaotic creations all on his own, he had found time enough to finish his shopping well in advance. There was no way that sparkling was going to online the next mega-cycle and watch the Twins open their gifts while he and his brother received nothing. As he he turned into Megamart’s parking lot he finished tabulating his list.

 

:“Prowler?” Jazz said. Prowl shook his helm at himself as he transformed. Of course he had forgotten that their comms were still connected.

 

:“Sorry,” he replied. “I was thinking of what I needed to buy for them.”

 

:“That’s I yes then,” the saboteur said.

 

:“Of course,” the Praxian replied. “When you arrive, I will have everything we need for them.”

 

:“I love you, Prowl,” Jazz said. The mech in question’s spark flared and his frame warmed.

 

:“I love you as well,” Prowl said. “The Twins have missed you.”

 

:“I’ve missed’em too, and ya,” the Polihexian said. “I can’t wait to hold ya again.”

 

:“Do not miss the transport,” the tactician warned. “What are their designations?”

 

“Smokescreen ‘n Bluestreak,” Jazz replied. “Bitlet’s Bluestreak, sparklin’s Smokescreen.”

 

They said their goodbyes and Prowl headed into the store. As with every place he had once visited, the tactician had the superstore’s layout memorized. First, the Praxian went to the furniture section and examined the berths. He went on the datanet and looked for reviews for each one. It had to be safe, and it had to be comfortable. Though he had no idea what conditions Smokescreen had lived in, but given they had been abandoned without so much a care, Prowl guessed the sparkling had not been afforded many luxuries. Once he had settled on a berth, he selected the softest berthpad available, and then moved on to the containment berth. By more luck than planning, he found a containment berth that matched the berth he had chosen for the sparkling, and before the Praxian left the furniture section Prowl had selected an entire furniture set for the orphans. It Prowl longer to select gifts for the impending arrivals. For the newling the originator settled on soft toys, a setting of stacking blocks, and a puzzle cube. Shopping for the sparkling was harder, while Prowl had raised the Twins past newlinghood, he had no real experience with older sparklings. He looked at the toys, and read the reviews. In the end he chose puzzles, a remote control drones, and a plush turbofox. With the toys gifts settled, Prowl managed to find two Festival hampers, ready to be filled with gifts, to purchase. They were not the fanciest, but once he wrote their designations on them, the tactician thought the sparkling would feel welcomed.

 

The total cost of his purchases did not disturb him, as Second-in-Command, his Conjunx Endura being Third-in-Command, of the Autobot army, their household had a good income, they had plenty of credits to spend on these orphans, without any strain on their budget. Rather than the cost, the hiccup came with Prowl had to consider just how he was going to transport all of this home. While his subspace could carry the gifts, the furniture was something of a different story. Thanksfully, Convoys-for-hire were common in Iacon and despite the joor, the Praxian found one to hire. In the end, he was two joors late returning home to the Twins, thankfully his sparklingsitter, having already been warned, was not concerned. Hound was both a subordinate and friend to Jazz. While was not the Twins’ normal watcher, when Jazz had not returned as planned, the previous mega-cycle, he had volunteered to watch them on his mega-cycle off while Prowl attended meetings and strategy sessions he could not reschedule. To the tactician’s surprise, the hired Convoy helped Prowl bring his purchases up to his habsuite, a Festival kindness that earned him a healthy tip.

 

“Looks like you bought everything a sparkling could dream of,” Hound said as the Convoy deposited the boxed furniture in the middle of the great room. “Mirage gave me a helm’s up. Looks like you’ll be up for joors getting all that set up.”

 

“It would not be the first dark-cycle I did not get to my berth,” Prowl replied.

 

“How about I help?” The servus-frame said. “We can get the berths ready for the bitlets when Jazz turns up... Where are you putting them?”

 

“My office,” the tactician replied. “Thank you, Hound. If you could start one of the berths, I’ll back up my desk. I do very little work there. I will not miss it.”

 

Before Prowl set to work, he checked on his creations, recharging in their berthroom, one door over from his office. Like they so often were, they were recharging together, with Sideswipe’s arm drapped over Sunstreaker’s face. With a soft smile, the originator moved Sideswipe’s arm down just a little and dragged their blankets back over them again. Sunstreaker was a restful recharger, his brother was not. After kissing each of his twins on their helms, Prowl entered his office and began to box up the contents. There really was nothing of great significance in this room, a part from the small planter Jazz had given him vorns ago. That could be moved to their berthroom, so could the datapads he had stored in here. Once he had had Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, most of the work he had done at home had been done from the couch in the great room, often with his creations suckling on his lines or recharging in his arms. The desk had mostly been gathering dust. What he had regularly found use for had long moved into the great room to be stored in the units there. He and Jazz had been talking about turning it into a playroom for the Twins, while in the back of his processor Prowl had hoped to turn it into a new nursery for an impending newspark. Turning it into a berthroom for a pair of frightened orphans was a suitable distraction.

 

By the time he had emptied the room, Hound had the first pieces of furniture ready to go in. Leaving a few pieces of Sunstreaker’s and Sideswipe’s artwork on the walls to make the space more welcoming, they moved the containment berth, the sparkling berth, a berthside table, and a storage unit, as well as a toy box with some simple toys already filling it. Prowl did not consider these part of the gifts, all sparklings deserved toys. As a final touch, they rolled out a colourful mat over the plain floor. In a few joors, the drab office had been transformed into a colourful berthroom fit for a young sparkling. With the room settled, Hound returned to his own habsuite as Prowl rather pathetically inscribed the orphans’ designations onto their hampers. He made no attempt at artwork, the Praxian was a total failure as an artist. Little Sunstreaker was rarely without a tablet to draw on, his creations were getting really quite good for a mechling his age, though it was possible his originator was biased. Jazz could redo the encryptions when he finally returned home, Prowl concluded as he set the new hampers with those belonging to his family, and filled every one with the gift purchased this dark-cycle and previously. He had put his last gift to Jazz in the Polihexian’s hamper when the door opened.

 

“Figured ya’d be up, Lover,” Jazz softly said as he stepped through the threshold, a tired sparkling cradled in his arms. Prowl’s spark instantly melted.

 

“I have the room ready,” Prowl whispered in reply.

 

He stepped over to his mate, and kissed him quickly and looked down at the sparkling’s faceplates, and drooped doorwings. The poor little thing was frail and thin. His frame had long been cannibalizing the non-essential components of his protoform, leaving the Smokescreen with a sharp, wasted face. It would take quartexes of proper fuelling to add healthy mass to this sparkling, perhaps longer still. Prowl looked over Jazz’s shoulder and saw the newling in Mirage’s arms, expression scrunched, and the originator reached for him. The noblemech was clearly happy to hand him over. As soon as Prowl had Bluestreak in his arms he had felt an instant bond. With wide, blue optics, the newling looked back at him, slowly pulling his servo from his mouth. After staring at each other for a klik or more, the newling smiled and reached his servos out to Prowl’s face.

 

“Y’re the most beautiful mech I ever saw,” the saboteur said.

 

“You are biased,” the Praxian replied, still he smiled

 

“Anyone that saw ya like I do would say the same,” Jazz countered. “‘M glad ya gave me the privilege.”

 

“You earned it,” Prowl replied, remembering the stellar-cycles of sweet, persistent courtship, and the warmth Jazz instilled in him, a mech almost exclusively called cold. “You make me feel warm. Has this one fuelled?”

 

“Took the better part of the flight, but he’s got a full tank,” the Polihexian replied. “Ya got the space ready for’em?”

 

“This way,” the tactician said.

 

Prowl led his mate to what had once been his office. He kept the lights off, rather than further risk waking the sparkling. As they stepped into the room, Jazz brushed a kiss along his shoulder. It was clear his mate approved. Balancing the sparkling against his chassis, Jazz pulled the warming blanket back and lowered Smokescreen onto the berth. Immediately the sparkling curled in on himself, a reflex born from neglect, and it broke the originator’s spark. Jazz pulled the blanket over the deprived mechling. Gentle as the gesture was, Smokescreen raised his helm off the pillow, just a little. Crooning low, his mate brush a servo along the mechling’s helm and softly promised he and his brother were in his home, as he had promised. Smokescreen turned his helm up as saw Prowl, his tired optics widen. Concerned the sparkling might be afraid for his newling brother, the elder Praxian knelt next to his mate.

 

“I am Prowl,” he said. “Jazz is my mate. You and Bluestreak are safe. You will be safe from now on. Would you like it if we read you a story before you recharge?”

 

“Please,” Smokescreen replied. He spoke perfect Neo Cybex, like Jazz had theorized, the mechling had not trusted the Autobots who had rescued him.

 

“I think I got story y’all gonna like,” Jazz said, before he rose, he kissed Prowl on the mouth. “Be right back.”

 

“Would you like to hold your brother while we read you the story?” Prowl asked.

 

“Can I?” The sparkling asked. He pushed himself up in his berth, and the originator placed Bluestreak into his older brother’s arms. It was clear Smokescreen was an old servo at handling the newling. It was likely he had been the only one to offer the newling any love. “It’s comfy.”

 

“I am glad,” the Praxian replied. “I like my berth soft as well.”

 

Jazz returned a few nanokliks later, and the procreators settled in, Jazz sitting on the berth at Smokescreen’s peds, and Prowl kneeling next to the berth, and together they read the Praxian brothers their story. When the story was done, the sparkling asked for another, and Prowl and Jazz both saw no reason to deny him. This time, Prowl got up to select the story, and after he did he stopped at the hamper he had put together for Smokescreen and withdrew the plush turbofox. He thought the sparkling could use the comfort toy. Bluestreak would likely want something as well, and Prowl chose a small petrorabbit plush from his hamper too. They still had plenty of gifts to uncover in the light-cycle. When the originator returned to the newly transformed berthroom, he offered the mechlings their gifts. Bluestreak rubbed his against his face and squealed with glee. Smokescreen stared in surprise at Prowl before finally taking the turbofox from the elder Praxian.

 

“Thank you,” he murmured. He held it in one arm as he continued to support Bluestreak with the other.

 

After the second story, with the sparkling clearly drooping, and the newling already in recharge, Prowl took Bluestreak back and rose smoothly and placed Bluestreak in his new containment berth. He turned and watched Smokescreen curl back up on his side, but this time he was cuddling the turbofox. Already he looked more relaxed. Jazz tucked him in again, and the mechling was in recharge in nanokliks. Seeing him settled, the Polihexian stood and stepped close to Prowl, he cupped the tactician’s face in his servos and drew him down to kiss. It was sweet and soft, gratitude and not lust. In silence, they left the orphans to recharge. Before heading to their own berthroom, Jazz stopped to check on the Twins, kissing each slumbering sparkling on the helm, and adjusting their blankets, just as Prowl had joors earlier. This had been his longest mission since they had emerged, six full quartexes. While the work he did was vital to the cause, his absence had been hard on the Twins, and on their originator.

 

“I love you,” Jazz said, as they stepped into the great room. “I love you more every time I see ya.”

 

“I love you,” Prowl replied. “I missed you. I missed you more than I imagined. I am so glad you arrived safe.”

 

“Don’t plan on leavin’ again for a while,” the saboteur promised. “Hard to lead from out in the field. Ya did so much. It’s beautiful. Ya put out hampers for those little mechs.”

 

“I did not want them to see he Twins open gifts and receive nothing,” the Praxian replied. “They have suffered even more than I had imagined. Smokescreen is in a terrible state.”

 

“Medic cleared’m to come home wit me, but he needs a lot o’ love ‘n care,” Jazz said. “Ratchet’ll want a good look at’em both after the Feast.”

 

“You intend for them to stay,” Prowl guessed. “You bonded to Smokescreen.”

 

“I did,” the Polihexian confirmed. “’N I do. But only if ya want’em too. Only if the Twins are okay.”

 

“We have space for them,” the tactician said, and thinking of the negative kindling test. It would be a vorn at least before he had another procreo cycle. “Love enough for them as well. Sideswipe will likely be happy for more playmates, Sunstreaker might be suspicious but he loves newlings. We should recharge. Hound got the Twins to recharge early, I imagine they will be up long before we are ready.”

 

 

Just as Prowl had predicted, the Twins did online early, but instead of being wild with excitement, they crawled into their procreators’ berth, and curled up on their progenitor’s chassis, chattering with joy. Both Jazz and Prowl had woken when they had entered the berthroom. With tired optics, the originator watched his mate and their creations cuddle and speak. Jazz covered the Twins’ helms with kisses, and Prowl fell just that much more in love with Jazz. As Sunstreaker and Sideswipe settled in for a little more recharge, their progenitor draped his arms over their small frames, a smile of pure joy on handsome face. Though he enjoyed watching his mate and creations renew their bond, the promise of another joor or two’s recharge was too much to resist, and Prowl eased himself across the berth, laying on his side as he so often did, he nuzzled his helm into the crook of Jazz’s neck. In nanokliks he was recharging again.

 

Something woke Prowl a joor or so after the Twins had joined him and Jazz in their berth. Moving quietly, hoping the three would recharge a little longer, the Praxian slipped from the berth and the berthroom, and made his way over to the room where they had left the Praxian orphans in recharge. They would not be orphans much longer, if Prowl and Jazz had their way. He hoped the Twins would welcome new brothers, and he hoped the young Praxians were not so scarred that they would not welcome a family. As he stepped into the room, Prowl saw Smokescreen standing at Bluestreak’s containment berth looking down with concern, the turbofox plush he had been gifted the dark-cycle before was dangling from his servo. The newling was holding his plush petrorabbit and quietly rocking back and forth, his fist in his mouth. Intuitively, the originator knew the newling was distressed. It was worrying that he did not cry.

 

“I think Bluestreak is hungry, Smokescreen,” Prowl said as he joined the sparkling at the containment berth.

 

“Uh, h’uh,” Smokescreen replied. “I didn’t know if you had bottles... or if you’d be mad if I left the room.”

 

“You can go anywhere you like, Smokescreen,” the originator said. “In a little while, I’ll give you a tour. I wonder if you have ever had an oil bath.”

 

“Nope,” the sparkling replied. “I cleaned one when a piped got clogged and no one else was small enough to clear it.”

 

“You never should have been made to do that,” Prowl declared, hating the Decepticons that had held Kalis with an even greater force. “You will have chores here, eventually, for now I want you to rest, and to heal. You’ve been hungry a long time.”

 

“I gave the best fuel to Blue,” Smokescreen explained. “He’s my responsibility.”

 

“What happened to your procreators?” The elder Praxian asked. These little ones had clear blue optics. The vast majority of Decepticons changed their optic colour to red after they enlisted. It was unusual that they would have creations with blue optics.

 

“Never came back,” the young Praxian replied. “They left us alone a lot. Then origin didn’t comeback. Then genitor didn’t.”

 

“I am sorry, Smokescreen,” Prowl said. “I weaned my twins last joor, but I think my frame still remembers what to do. Would you like to sit with me while I fuel Bluestreak?”

 

“Okay,” Smokescreen replied.

 

When Prowl lifted Bluestreak from the containment berth, it was as if a switch went off in the newling and he cried. With his servo in his mouth he cried with hunger. Prowl did not know when their originator had disappeared or their progenitor, but even before then they had either not had enough resources to provide for their creations, or they had neglected them by choice. Either way, both mechlings had significant healing to do. Cradling the distressed bitlet, Prowl sat on Smokescreen’s berth and triggered a fuel line. He had reactivated the code in the dark-cycle, as soon as he and Jazz had confirmed his plan. There was fuel formulated for newlings, refined even more than sparkling grade, but fuel manufactured in the frame of an adult was the best thing for them, and his frame had indeed not forgotten this task. Bluestreak had forgotten, the poor little thing. It took coaxing from the originator, and the fuel line dripping against his pursed lips for the newling’s instinctual programming to take over and the bitlet drank. Smokescreen leaned against Prowl’s side and watched, his turbofox held tight in his arms. Smokescreen sighed a little vent and sagged down, relaxing for the first time in a very long time.

 

“When Jazz and our creations online we are going to open presents, and have a nice meal,” the originator explained. “Bluestreak will need your help opening his hamper. At his age, he will not know what is going on.”

 

“You bought us presents?” The sparkling asked. “Why?”

 

“Because it is the Feast of Mortilus,” Prowl replied. “And you are in our home.”

 

“It can’t be that simple,” Smokescreen said. “Mechanisms don’t just give gifts for nothin’.”

 

“Sometimes they do,” the elder Praxian replied. “Mechanisms, adults most of all can be selfish, and you have seen the worst of that, but many of giving sparks.”

 

:“Ya with our foundlings?” Jazz asked over the comm.

 

:“Bluestreak is fuelling,” Prowl explained. “I thought you and the Twins might recharge a little longer.”

 

:“They’re rarin’ to go,” the saboteur said. “I told’em ‘bout their new brothers. Seem to think the new mechlings are presents for’em.”

 

:“Perhaps they are,” the originator replied. “We’ll be out.”

 

Bluestreak released the line with a little sigh. Prowl did not think he had really had enough, but his tank was small, and he had spent perhaps the majority of his life hungry, it was unlikely that the newling was used to drinking his fill. It would be his caretakers’ responsibility to watch him for signs of hunger. Smokescreen climbed onto his knees and kissed his brother’s cheek. If Jazz and Prowl did not catch signs that Bluestreak needed to fuel, his older brother almost certainly would, then mechling was a devoted caretaker for so young a sparkling. Knowing his twins would be running Jazz wild as they waited to open their presents, their originator only remained seated another klik before he cradled Bluestreak against his should and stood, offering the older brother his servo. Doorwings high, his lower lipplate between his denta, Smokescreen took hold of his servo.

 

“Everything will be fine,” Prowl promised. “If it becomes too much you are welcome to return to your room to rest.”

 

“Okay,” Smokescreen spoke in barely more than a whisper.

 

As soon as the berthroom door opened, Prowl heard the Twins chattering at Jazz in the kitchen. Sometimes they spoke over each other, sometimes they spoke in one voice. Split sparks were unusual, every pair a little different from every other. Sunstreaker was quieter, calmer, until he was angry. Sideswipe was wild, and entirely without fear. Smokescreen almost welded himself against Prowl’s leg, his doorwings arced even higher. The originator hoped his creations would be patient with him, young as they were, patience was something they were still learning. His eldest by nanokliks played shy with strangers, his youngest could overwhelm other sparklings, mostly they were so close to each other, friends were something of an afterthought.

 

“Ooooooooooo!” Sideswipe and Sunstreaker squealed in unison and barrelled into Prowl’s legs.

 

“Careful sweetsparks!” Jazz called urgently, his servos occupied holding to cubes of pressed energon.

 

“Ack!” Smokescreen squawked as he was suddenly pinned by a wiggly Sideswipe. It took a a few nanokliks for Sideswipe to realize he was squeezing not just his originator, but an older sparkling. Prowl looked down, and waited for his reaction.

 

“Hi!” The red twin said, and he squeezed a little harded. “Hug!”

 

Against Prowl’s leg, Smokescreen shivered. As soon as it began, it became worse and worse until the sparkling collapsed on the floor, vents wheezing, tears pouring from his optics. Sideswipe chirped anxiously, still holding on to the older mechling. Prowl dropped to his knees and pulled Smokescreen, and by rote, Sideswipe onto his lap, carefully holding Bluestreak above the crush. He heard Jazz set their cubes down before his mate took Bluestreak from him, and sat at his side on the floor. Sunstreaker took the opportunity to sit on his progenitor’s lap and examine the newling, half watching the ruckus. Smokescreen did not audibly cry but he shivered, his plating clattered and he buried his helm against Prowl’s chassis. Concerned with the mechling’s reaction, the originator separated Sideswipe from Smokescreen and hugged him to his side. But Sideswipe was persistent, and he reached to pet the traumatized mechling’s helm. Slowly, the young Praxian settle and turn his helm to look Sideswipe.

 

“Smokescreen, this is Sideswipe,” Prowl said. “Sunstreaker is just over there, with Jazz and Bluestreak. Mechlings, Smokescreen and Bluestreak need time to get used to us.”

 

“Hug, Smokey?” Sideswipe asked, arms out to Smokescreen. Anxious but driven by something, Smokescreen inched across Prowl’s lap as he nodded his helm. He let the younger sparkling hug him, and Prowl realized that the mechling was not so much afraid of Sideswipe, but he was touch starved, and to receive blatant affection had overwhelmed him. Feeling just a little bit calmer, but still desperately starved, he accepted brazen Sideswipe’s hug. Whether jealous or curious or something else, Sunstreaker abandoned Jazz to join the hug.

 

:“They didn’t just starve’m o’ energon, they starved’m o’ love, slagtards,” Jazz hissed over their comms. “Best hope I never find them.”

 

Eventually, Smokescreen calmed completely and the Twins disengaged. The elder mechling looked exhausted, but when Jazz suggested they open their hampers, he perked up a little. Next to the hamper Prowl had poorly etched with Bluestreak’s designation Jazz had placed one of the bouncy chairs they had kept in storage, and he placed the newling in it. With some light rocking, Bluestreak settled, looking all around himself, at all the bright colours. Jazz stroked Smokescreen back and crooned softly, the sparkling was already overwhelmed again. There would likely be more tears, but they would be happy once, Prowl hoped. Claiming his cube, the originator sat amongst the sparklings as the opened their hampers, and each took turns removing a gift. Smokescreen was clearly dumbfounded by all the gifts he was received, Bluestreak was ambivalent, but he visible enjoyed his puzzle cube. With all the packaging tossed about by the sparklings, the room was in chaos, but Prowl was not at all perturbed. Jazz eased Prowl’s hamper over to him, and the adults opened their own gifts.

 

“Happy Feast-Cycle, Prowler,” Jazz said as Prowl opened his own hamper. It had been empty the previous dark-cycle, and he had not expected much, his mate had not been on a long vacation, anything but. Inside the box were new crystals for his garden, rare ones at that, a collection of classical stories, some geared to share with the sparklings, some geared for him alone. As always with Jazz’s gifts, they came from the spark.

 

“Happy Feast-Cycle, Jazz,” Prowl replied. “Thank you. You always think of something I might want when I cannot think of anything.”

 

“Y’re easy to shop for,” the Polihexian replied. He opened his own hamper and found the sheet music, the album from his favourite group, and engex from his favourite distillery. Jazz kissed him, once and then twice. From the bottom of the box he found framed artwork from the twins, and the saboteur nuzzled his mate’s neck, and pulled him close. They sat that way for a while.

 

Before too long, Prowl stood and went into the kitchen to prepare proper fuel for the family. While he had a bad habit of drinking more pressed energon than nutritious fuel, his habits had improved with his carrying and the Twins’ emergence. Preparing tasty fuel was still something of a work in progress, but he had mastered a few dishes, and oil cakes with energon crystals and magnesium syrup was a favourite of the Twins. Taking care not to burn the oil cakes, Prowl cooked them slowly, at a lower heat. As soon as he announced that they were finished, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker climbed into their chairs, acting as if they had not fuelled in orns. Jazz lifted Bluestreak from the bouncy chair, and guided Smokescreen to the table. The appearance of the fuel seemed to stun the mechling. The procreators exchanged a look. It seemed likely that Smokecreen had only ever received ration fuel, which was not at all enough nutrients for a developing mechlings.

 

“Eat as much as ya like,” Jazz told Smokescreen, lightly rubbing his back as as he served the Praxian sparkling a plate. “Just eat slow so ya don’t give yourself a tank ache.”

 

“We have sparkling grade if this does not sit well in your tank,” Prowl offered. “Try it and see.”

 

As the Twins descended on their plates like the ravenous scraplets, Smokescreen took a careful bite, chewed, swallowed and took another bite. Slowly, as he had been warned, the sparkling cleaned his plate. He did not asked for another oil cake, but Jazz saw longing in his optics as he looked at the stack of oil cakes remaining, and served him another. When Bluestreak began chewing on his servo, and rocking, the Polihexian handed him over to Prowl. This time the newling needed to coaking and he took the fuel line offered and immediately latched. Fuelling himself while fuelling a newling was not any kind of a struggle for Prowl, certainly it was easier when he was tandem fuelling the Twins. While Bluestreak elected to remain latched, the sparklings returned to their new treasures and played. In a particularly sparkwarming moment, Smokescreen helped the Twins put their simple, for him not for them, puzzles together. Even Sunstreaker latched himself to the older sparkling, watching him with his own puzzles and games. Soon they all tired a little, and the yellow twin offer some of his colouring surprised, and the mechlings stretched out on the floor to draw.

 

“Ya pulled off a miracle,” Jazz murmured as he and Prowl, with Bluestreak still latched, settled on the couch.

 

“Megamart had miracles on sale,” Prowl replied. “I wanted another creation for the Festival. You brought me two.”

 

“When I saw’em, I knew they were meant for us,” the Polihexian replied.

 

 


End file.
